


a face like salvation

by grenadier (5H4E)



Series: wardening [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Stroud ain't shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-05-30 19:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5H4E/pseuds/grenadier
Summary: It’s hit her, slow and heavy and daunting like a white-tipped wave, that this isn’t just a Warden, but the Warden-Commander. The Hero of Ferelden. Come to rescue her baby brother. Of course.





	1. the deep roads expedition

**Author's Note:**

> "And when you're in the trenches,  
> And you're under fire I will cover you," - Brother, Kodaline
> 
> posted w/o editing and w/o beta.

The air cracks blue-silver as Anders shocks a darkspawn (hurlock, genlock, Marian doesn’t care _which_ —) to its knees before slamming the end of his staff against the cheekbone of another. They fall at the feet of a stranger, and magic twitches at Marian’s fingers as Anders turns to face the elf, in her elegant black armour.

“Anders,” the Warden says, by way of greeting, sounding only slightly surprised, though _something_ flickers in her eyes all the same. Anders fled the Wardens, Marian remembers, and she allows her magic to course through her, at the ready.

“Commander!” Anders breathes, and lowers his staff. “I sensed the Wardens were near, but I never– I didn’t expect it to be _you_ ,”

“Likewise,” she replies, signalling to others behind her to stand down. “I… was sorry to hear you left. I am glad to see you’re safe — or as safe as can be when one finds themselves in the Deep Roads. Did you find yourself missing Kal’Hirol?” There’s a sad sort of laugh on her lips; Marian doesn’t find it very funny.

It’s hit her, slow and heavy and daunting like a white-tipped wave, that this isn’t just a Warden, but the _Warden-Commander_. The Hero of Ferelden. Come to rescue her baby brother. Of course.

She’s the petite, pretty elf of all the stories Marian has heard; her hair — the colour of sunlight — long and fine, with two braids pulled back from her face like a circlet, and she looks like nothing that belongs so far underground, in dirt and darkspawn blood, swathed in amber fire-light. It’s fitting that she has a face like salvation. And she has eyes only for Anders.

“I came looking for the Wardens,” Anders starts, sounding like he means to keep talking, but Carver slumps against Marian’s side, his skin pale and clammy even in the cool underground air.

The Hero of Ferelden — _Tabris_ , Marian thinks her name is — glances her brother’s way, not even acknowledging Marian. Her eyes, the colour of moonlight, assess Carver’s condition, and then there’s a look of understanding within them.

“You’re offering him as a recruit,” she says it like a statement, sighing. She turns to Marian, watches her face carefully. “If I were to take him with me, I cannot guarantee he would live,”

“He’s strong, Kallian,” Anders interjects, before Marian can raise hell over the use of the word ‘if’. “He’s a skilled warrior, would only improve under the Wardens. He’ll make it, trust me.”

Tabris softens, smiles at Anders, and something like jealousy erupts in Marian at it all. Anders had told her he’d been hiding from the Wardens — she’d been all ready to drop to her knees and thank him for risking everything to help her save her brother — but this is not the tense reunion she had been imagining, and the Hero of Ferelden was nothing like the tyrannical commander that had starred in all Marian’s imaginings of Anders’ escape.

That stung, just a little.

“You know I do,” Tabris says, delicately, and glances back at Carver, who shudders against Marian’s side. “Being a Warden is not easy, I have to warn you. But if Anders vouches for you, that is enough,”

“And not the fact that people aren’t lining up to join the Wardens after the Blight?” Anders quips, and Tabris _laughs_ as if Marian’s whole world isn’t falling apart, as if she’s not trembling as she forgets to breathe for focusing on the ragged sounds of Carver’s own breathing.

The Hero of Ferelden is rogue built — lean, whipcord muscle; streamlined — and even smaller than most elves, and Carver is a large man. All the Hawke children are large; tall, broad-built, all muscle and power. Their father was not a small man, by any stretch, but Leandra was long-limbed, and _Gamlen_ had towered over them when he’d come for them in the Gallows a year ago; a pillar of disappointment, a flesh and blood monolith to all the shades of human failing.

For all the stories she’d heard, Marian had never expected her to be so small.

For a startling moment, Marian can’t let go of her little brother. The Hero of Ferelden could not carry him; she _cannot_. Marian’s fingertips press into the skin of Carver’s wrist; she feels the slow undulating of his pulse; Carver turns his head to look at her.

“I guess this is it?” He asks, a sliver of doubt curling around his words. He’s afraid, not that he’d ever admit it, and his farewell sounds like _forever_. She tries to memorise what Carvers voice sounds like. “Take care of mother.”

Her fingers slacken as her ears ring with mother’s voice — _your fault, your fault, your fault_ — and she is struck dumb as the Hero of Ferelden takes hold of her brother, takes Carver away from her.

Another Warden is shouldering the weight. Marian can barely see her. She lets her hands follow where he goes.

"—It's funny," Tabris is saying, a million miles away, baring her teeth in a grin, winking at Anders, "we just _happened_ to stumble upon this poor soul all _alone_ in the Deep Roads—"

The space between them, the dusty, lyrium salted air between her and her brother is the Waking Sea between the Free Marches and Ferelden, and he’s leaving her behind, and she’ll be nothing more than blight poison, devastated in his wake.

His shoulder falls from her fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn’t canon – i don’t have kallian’s post DAO(+DLC) timeline perfectly plotted out but this certainly isn’t part of it. but i thought it might be fun to explore. (tho i do like stroud!!)
> 
> the amells – in my head – are notoriously tall.
> 
> and, if you were wondering, kallian is wearing her hair like zevran.
> 
> kallian and anders had... a special relationship in awakening. there was a point where he was really her only friend, despite the impropriety of it, at a time when she felt very alone and out of her depth. she was very upset when she heard he'd left and was missing. i would've loved for them to have seen each other again...


	2. demands of the qun

The Qunari’s attention is fixed firmly on the Wardens, and Marian is as of yet unnoticed.

Marian wastes no time, and swings her halberd around, slams it into the Qunari’s back. He roars, and tries to turn to face her, but she hits him against the skull with the blunt end and an entropic hex, and then, with a cry of exertion, whips the blade back around to meet his neck. He falls with a gurgle, and from behind his hulking mass she sees the Wardens watching from a distance.

Her gaze meets that of the Hero of Ferelden, just as much a slip of moonlight, ice, or silver now as she was then, years ago, in the dark and dust of the Deep Roads. She has pulled her long, blonde hair back, tied it back, knife ears displayed proudly. _Elves make their beds with Qunari,_ Marian thinks spitefully, but bites her tongue.

Tabris nods at her in acknowledgement, a smile appearing on her face. She steps aside, but not before a Warden behind her rises from where he had been kneeling over a Sten, or Karashok, or whichever.

“Somehow, I knew it would be you.” He turns to face her; their eyes meet; Marian _knows_ those blue eyes.

“Carver!” She gasps, before she can stop herself, and she can’t help but grin wildly, breathlessly, as he approaches.

“Hello, sister,” Carver smirks — beside him, Tabris is smiling, but she’s so far away Marian can barely see her — “Somehow, I knew it would be you.”

“Are you injured?” Her eyes trail over him. He’s lost weight since she last saw him, but there’s colour in his cheeks where he’s caught the sun. His hair is longer, nearly falling into his eyes, and he has a beard that makes him look like their father, but it is still undeniably him. She’d recognise her brother anywhere.

“I’m good,” he says, calmly, as if the stars aren’t aligning to bring them together, as if the past four years were nothing. “What about you?” He reaches out with his left hand, rests his fingers against the skin just above her left elbow, and the touch is gentle, barely there, but it still makes her tremble. _He’s real,_ she thinks, feeling dizzy and weightless. _He’s real, he’s real. He’s_ here _._

She wonders if she is about to faint — she knows if she did, that he would catch her.

She reaches out, rests her right hand over his bicep, feels the cold of his chainmail against her skin, and nods, swallowing. She’s winded and her shoulder hurts, and— “I’m fine,” she breathes. “What are you doing here?”

“Warden business,” he says, and withdraws.

Marian opens her mouth, steps forward, and then Tabris is approaching, and her brother’s eyes are on her, and her eyes are on Marian, and she’s smiling and baring her teeth. Marian’s never been all that taken by stories of the Hero, and in person, she is small and delicate looking, but she still halts in her tracks, and feels her stomach drop.

“Thank you for your help here,” she says, politely, and without any warmth. “It is… unfortunate that relations between the Free Marches and the Qunari have come to this. I would stay and help with negotiations if I could, but we have already strayed too far from our course, and we don’t have much time,” she glances down, at the Qunari corpses littering the streets, and an odd expression passes over her face.

Marian recollects herself, remembers that they’re on the brink of war, and stares at Carver.

“Are there any more of you?” She asks. If she had a larger group with her, maybe she could strike back against the Qunari. As it is, this feels too much like running away, too much like Lothering.

Carver shakes his head. His eyes meet hers again. “This is all of us, and we’ve already delayed too long,” he says.

“Fight with us,” Marian tries, but Carver shakes his head.

Marian’s eyes trace the Warden crest on his breastplate. She wants him back, not a Grey Warden but her little brother. She stiffens, breathes in deep, and longs to chase. Were it years ago, Marian knows that the Hero of Ferelden could not keep her from her brother; that the whole Qunari army could not have hoped to hold her back. But it is the present, and Marian is older, and Carver is a Grey Warden and out of her reach.

 “I am sorry,” Tabris adds, from beside him. “We will spread word to the other free cities as we pass: pray that they send aid. That is all we can do for you.” She turns, and heads the way Marian came. Marian’s heart drops when Carver moves to follow her.

“You’re leaving?” She stares at Carver’s resolute face, hungry for a goodbye, for some sign that he had been as much adrift without her as she had felt. “Just like that?”

Something like regret, or guilt, tugs at his face then. “I’ll write,” he offers, but it has been four years of knowing Carver was alive but never hearing from him. She had written to him several times over the years, and had never gotten a response. She’d told herself that it had been because the Wardens had kept him from seeing them — Wardens don’t condone attachments; she knows that from Anders — but in her heart she had not truly believed that. Try as she might, from everything she had heard about her, she could not believe that Tabris was a cruel, or even conventional Commander of the Grey.

She is snapped from her thoughts by Tabris’ clipped, Denerim-accented voice. “Send Anders my regards,” Tabris says, gently. _No_ , Marian thinks bitterly; _you cannot have him_. She would not allow it, would not permit the beatific Hero of Ferelden to have him, too. Not when Tabris has already staked a claim over her brother, her own flesh and blood.

“Wait!” Marian cries, suddenly remembering. “Carver, I have to tell you about mother—!”

“I already know what happened,” Carver’s voice hardens, like he’s locked away his grief, and Marian’s mind flashes with images of Carver reading Gamlen’s letter at the Warden’s barracks, alone. He should have been home; they should have been together. Marian can hear her mother’s voice: _your fault_ , she snaps, coldly. _Your fault. Your fault_. “I’m sure you did your best.”

“This isn’t the time,” Tabris interjects, and to her credit she sounds genuinely sorry to interrupt them. “Maker watch over you, good luck Lady Hawke,” and she turns back to continue towards the docks.

There is a pause, and neither sibling knows what to say. Finally, Carver looks at her, and nods his head awkwardly. “Goodbye, sister,” he sighs. “Take care of yourself.”

Carver turns to leave, with that, and it feels like he’s driven his gauntleted fist into her stomach. She wants to cry, wants to embrace her brother, but this is the parting of the ways and it already happened four years ago. Carver is gone, and she is her own person, and her home is under siege and she will be here to face it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my hawkes have a tragically co-dependent relationship where they both cling to each other after the death of bethany, and consequently felt an overwhelming instinct to protect the other. even if it meant they both had terrible issues with self-confidence and actualisation. their time apart has been good for them, but (emotional, selfish, desperately lonely) marian can’t help but feel she pulled the short straw.
> 
> kallian is, ofc, basalit-an through sten. her wanting to engage in negotiations comes from her knowing about qunari politics.
> 
> kallian does not give hawke an item like stroud and alistair does. kallian has little respect for the ‘no involvement in politics’ stipulation of being a warden, but she also has little personal ties to this conflict and has places to be. 
> 
> i imagine kallian and carver would get along p. well: for her part, i think carver would remind kallian of soris. and i feel like carver would feel a heady cocktail of fereldan hero worship and a healthy infatuation towards her.
> 
> kallian uses a fereldan form of address with hawke: i don’t think ‘ser’ would be used bc hawke is not a knight. ‘serah’ is, i think, a somewhat generic honorific used to show respect (like ‘miss’) but i think fereldan titles are a bit more regimented. moreover, at this point hawke is not champion so i don’t think ‘messere’ would really be appropriate. hawke is a noble, so kallian uses ‘lady’. do correct me if i am wrong, however.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn’t canon – i don’t have kallian’s post DAO(+DLC) timeline perfectly plotted out but this certainly isn’t part of it. but i thought it might be fun to explore. (tho i do like stroud!!)
> 
> the amells – in my head – are notoriously tall.
> 
> and, if you were wondering, kallian is wearing her hair like zevran.
> 
> kallian and anders had... a special relationship in awakening. there was a point where he was really her only friend, despite the impropriety of it, at a time when she felt very alone and out of her depth. she was very upset when she heard he'd left and was missing. i would've loved for them to have seen each other again...


End file.
